The Devil in the Bag
"To the railway-station?" said the man in the car. "Yes, certainly: glad to take you. Jump in. As a matter of fact, I'm going there myself."
He was a fat, comfortable, chuckling sort of fellow in a brown tweed cap, peering out from an ancient touring-car which had dusty side-curtains flopping at the back. He hospitably held open the door of the front seat, but I got into the back instead.
"If you don't mind," I said. "This crook I told you about will be on the watch. If he sees a policeman, it'll be all up. I'd better keep back here out of sight. You said you were going to the station. Er — are you taking the 11.20 train?"
"Me? Oh, no; no, no, no, no, no," declared the other, with a broad wave of his hand. The car moved away, taking a direction well opposite to Valley Road. "I'm meeting it. My wife gets back from the States to-night. It's a boat-train; at least, it meets the Queen Victoria at Plymouth. Probably won't be on time. Those boat-trains seldom are."
This was good news, although hanging about the station in the open was not a part I cared for My companion took a great deal of interest in the villain who had robbed the Chief Constable, questioning me closely about it, and working himself up into a towering rage over the state of British justice. I was well protected by the dusty side-curtains, and did not fear observation when we passed through the central part of the town. But the station was much further off than I had expected. We dawdled along, while my companion talked genially, and I could almost hear the watch ticking under the Law's coat. Meantime, I was puzzling and stumbling over the question of that £I00 note, thrust away in the leaves of a discarded newspaper. Mrs. Antrim bad said she found it in the scullery — apparently this tallied, for it was a Daily Telegraph dated four days back-but you seldom find people treating £100 notes in this fashion. Therefore Mrs. Antrim had not found the paper in the place she said, or the note had not been in it when she found it, and therefore what?
"By George, she's on time!" said my companion.
We had swung round into the open space before the long, low, dun-roofed station, and the hands of a clock in a low tower pointed to half a minute before 11.20. From some distance away we could hear the whistle of a train, that flying sound which is torn away in the next instant, and the roar behind it. Along the front of the station a few taxicabs — but no Evelyn. Between the two wings of the building, a folding iron gate to the station platform was being rattled open, and a ticket-porter stood in the entrance. - I had not even a penny which would get the ticket entitling me to go out on the platform: still, that did not matter if Evelyn failed to arrive. The great danger was that there might be a real policeman prowling round the station. What I wanted to do was remain in the shelter of the car until I could reconnoitre. But my companion gave me no chance.'
"Is he here?" he whispered hoarsely.
"No. I think"
"Then he's probably out on the platform," said the other. His stout legs, in plus-fours and brown stockings, seemed to twinkle as he hopped out of the car. "I say, this is something to tell the wife and kids!" He threw open the door of the tonneau, showing me up to the eyes of the taxi-drivers and a dispirited porter or two. "Hadn't you better hurry up, old man? I've got to meet the missus in a minute or two, and I'd like to see the end of this before "
There was nothing to do but get out. The faces of the onlookers wavered and changed with interest as I walked across towards the ticket-barrier; several of the curious closed in behind. My companion had hurried ahead, putting his penny into the ticket-machine, giving it a resounding clank, and waddling to join me with an air which roused even more curiosity among the onlookers. Through the barrier I took a quick survey of the platform outside. There were about half a dozen people on it — but no Evelyn. The noise of the approaching train now seemed to make the whole station vibrate; round a curve its headlight crept, broadened, and ran silver along the rails.
"Go on through!" urged my companion. "You don't need a ticket: does he?" He appealed to the guard at the barrier. "There's a big criminal trying to get away by this train — robbery — robbed the Chief Constable-"
The guard opened and shut his ticket-punch. Behind me an excited voice spoke. A hand, with a square grimy fingernail in wrinkled flesh, was poked past my shoulder and pointed through the barrier at the platform outside.
"Yes," said the voice, "and there he is now."
The train burst in, drowning the words, but we had all heard them. Full in the glare of the headlight, as though its reflection from the rails caught him up, a man stood by himself at the edge of the platform above the tracks. He was a tallish, weedy, limp man, a trifle stooped; his neck was craned round, and he was staring at us over his shoulder. He wore large spectacles, and had a long limp blue-chinned face. But if ever I saw an expression of fear on a human face, it was glazed there. He did not move, he only stared. For one bad moment I thought he was going to topple forward straight under the wheels of the train. But he recovered himself. The train went past with a slamming roar and a flashing of windows, slowing down with a dull kind of sigh; and, in a backwash of grit the man turned round and began to walk swiftly away.
A voice was already calling out to stop the man who had robbed somebody. I think even the ticket-taker deserted his post when we hurried through the barrier: I had to go along, because they all turned to look at me even as they took the first step. I could have given a healthy-sized groan at this further example of the cussedness of human affairs. Our quarry did not go far, or try to go far. A porter only touched him on the arm, and he turned shakily.
When we got up to where he stood, a couple of my companions I stopped in unbelief, and I almost blurted out an apology. The man in front of us was a clergyman — or was dressed like one. He had on the dark coat, the dickey, the clerical collar from which his weedy neck projected, and had a soft dark hat set squarely on his head. If he had kept his nerve at that moment, the hunters might have excused themselves, and I — should have been able to fade away. But he did not keep his nerve. His forehead was wet, and his eyes behind the spectacles had a fishy glaze.
"All right," he said, not much above a whisper. "All right, all right," he went on rapidly, with a faintly foreign intonation. "I'll go with you. I knew I couldn't get away with it. I knew I wouldn't have the luck to get away with it. I knew that damned Antrim woman saw me, just when I was going out to the car-"
I looked down at the black bag he was carrying, and knew something too.
"You're Mr. Joseph Serpos, aren't you?" I said.
"Y-yes. I — how did they find me in this?" He fumbled at the breast of his clerical outfit, in a sort of weak bewilderment and savagery. I thought the man was going to cry. "I — had it all arranged. These clothes. Passport. I-"
"Give him the usual warning!" interposed a crafty voice out of the crowd, in some excitement. "You must give him the usual warning. That's the law."
Serpos put a hand to his forehead. "Get me out of here," he said. "I–I give myself up. You'd better take this. It's got the-you know — in it. You'd better take it."
The black bag, containing whatever it was he had stolen, was put into my hands.
"Ain't you going to write down what he says?" interposed the crafty voice again. "Where's your notebook? You must write down what he says. Where's your no-o-otebook?"
I was getting pretty flustered. Symbolically speaking, I wished to give the crafty voice a push in the face. Around us the group was increasing, while I stood with a prisoner whom I was forced to capture, and a bag containing stolen goods in my hand. What the devil was I going to do with him? This time the matter was past doubt: it was the sort of rumpus which would inevitably draw down a real Robert within a few more minutes.
I looked out over the crowd, seeing all sorts of faces — but nowhere did I see Evelyn. There was some confusion caused by people getting off the train (my zealous friend in the tweed cap was embracing a stout lady, but looking over her shoulder to see what went on), and a clutter of trucks hung round the luggage-van. The train breathed noisily in faint steam. Its coaches, coloured in brown and cream, had their doors and windows crowded with heads; through other windows I could see the red-shaded lamps of a restaurant-car, and I ached for sustenance beyond the resources of a halfpenny; finally, a board along' the coach-roofs bore the inscription: PLYMOUTH, BRISTOL & PADDINGTON, which meant
the open road to London.
Then I saw Evelyn at last.
She was just turning round after getting into a fast-class compartment, and peering out of the open door. She looked nervous and worried now; her eyes searched the platform;
Immediately behind her in the same compartment I saw none other than Mr. Johnson Stone, just in the act of putting his straw hat down on a corner seat. He straightened up, with a glow on his alert pince-nez and a cigar in his mouth. Then he caught sight of me.
He looked at my uniform, and it is no exaggeration to say that his eyes bulged. I saw him reach across and pluck Evelyn by the arm. "For God's sake, look," Stone said, "he's disguised again."
The crafty voice was persisting beside me. "Why don't you search him?" it hissed. "Maybe he's got a gun. Here, I'll run and call another p'iceman"
While I ordered the crowd to stand back, I made a gesture towards Evelyn which I hope she interpreted as a warning to stay where she was until I could get out of this. If I bolted for the train now, the fat would be in the fire and I should be caught. On the other hand, the train must be almost ready to pull out. From the corner of my eye I saw a harassed and worried station-master hurrying up with a watch in his hand.
"Here, what's going on here?" he protested. "What's the matter, constable?"
"Sorry, sir. This man's given himself up; he's wanted for larceny in Torquay. The Chief Constable-"
The station-master peered at me. "Stop a bit: who are you? You've never been assigned to this station. I know every policeman in this whole tow
"No, sir. I'm from Torquay. Special service."
"Ah, good," said the station-master, with a breath of relief. "We can't have trouble and arrests all over this station. (Stand back, if you please, my friends!) Then you can take him back to Torquay. Number 3 — down platform; over there — just coming in — last train to Torquay to-night. Come along: I'll take you. No fuss, now."
Already a couple of doors were slamming on the London train.
"Listen," I said, and pulled the station-master to one side; "very important. Sorry, but I must look at the swag in this valise first. Is there a private place close at hand, where I can take him?" I nodded towards Serpos, who had not moved. "And can you drive these people away? Also, if you could go and keep a compartment empty on the Torquay train-?"
"I'll attend to it myself," said the station-master, "and I'll have this platform clear in two seconds. Compartment? Yes.
You can take him into the waiting-room, if you like. There'll be nobody there."
Serpos was wiping the corner of his eye, and he tried to jerk his arm away as I hustled him across to the waiting-room. It was a dim place where, at the moment, there did not even seem to be anyone behind the window of the booking-office. I was relieved to see that a half-open door led to the street outside.
"All right," I said. "Get out! Through that door. Quick, before they see you!"
Serpos had sat down limp as a laundry-bag on a bench against the wall, under a peeling poster declaring the merits of Something-on-Sea. He had his hands pressed to his face, and there were hollows between the ligaments down the backs of them. I thought he was sobbing, but he was only cursing in a low, cold, shaky voice. From between his hands came a rambling monologue.
"Damn them. Damn them. I thought the police were fools. I knew the police were fools. That's what h-hurts. I always said that a clever man — It wasn't the Antrim woman, either. If I hadn't wasted all that time, if I'd gone right away, instead of hiding that car, and s-spending three hours laying a false trail"
I felt rather sorry for him, and anyhow, I had the swag safe enough in the black bag. "Do you hear?" I said. "I'm letting you go. Get out, can't you?"
He rolled up a white wet face, earnest in its great spectacles. A whole fusillade of slamming doors ran along the line of the train.
"No," he said, "no, I'll take my medicine. I'll go back with you. Then maybe"
He rolled up his head again, for a flash I could have sworn I saw a crafty look in that glazed brown eye; something shrewd and fighting behind his limp manner. It occurred to me that this pose of repentance was much overdone. If at that moment I had interpreted the look in his eye, I might have had the key to the whole murder-case. But his thoughts appeared to go back on something I had said, and quite suddenly his face grew less muddled, and, it had a shine like pale butter.
Then he got up. '
"I see," he said softly. "You want me to run away, do you? You never came from the police. You never came from Charters or Merrivale. I know where you come from. And you know all about it. Yes, I think I shall get away after all. Now, my friend, hand me back that bag. If you don't, I'll set up an alarm and bring the whole place down on us… and you'll have to prove who you are."
Whr-e-e-e went the guard's whistle outside.
At our left there was a door labelled `Gentlemen.' Serpos, I think, was too stunned to resist or even cry out, for I dropped the bag on the floor and hustled him through that door. Inside there were several cubicles with doors stretching from the floor nearly to the roof. A good heave shot him through into one of them, and I closed the door on him. Above the handle there was a little nickelled dial round which ran the polite inscription, `Occupied' or `Vacant.' That dial must turn in order to let the handle turn and let anybody out. I took my halfpenny and wedged it down into the dial against `Occupied,' so that the handle could not be turned from inside.
His howl rose up, followed by a furious bang on the door, just as I slipped out into the waiting-room, picked up the bag, and made with no great haste for the train. The dim platform was now deserted; it had closed up, like a theatre, at the end of our disturbance. Although the train was in motion, it was gliding slowly. I wanted to let most of those flashing windows roll past and get into a carriage near the end, so that my arrival should not be noticed.
But even a second's delay was too long. In the last carriage of the train I spotted an empty first-class compartment. I pulled open the door, and was running along beside it to get purchase for a jump inside, when there was a shout from inside the waiting-room. Out of the door popped a little man in shirt-sleeves, with a green shade over his eyes. And at the same time my friend the station-master came hurrying round the corner. The man with the green shade howled at him.
"Sir," he said, "there's a clergyman shut up in the lavatory using the most 'orrible language that — "
The rest of it was lost in the slam of the compartment door when I jumped inside, and in the deepening rattle and click of the wheels. We were flying past an anaemic gas-lamp: I could not tell whether they had seen me. But, as we swept out of the station, I took off my helmet and poked my head round the edge of the door to risk a backward look. They did not seem to be much excited. Nevertheless, I saw the station-master pointing to the room which housed the telegraph-office.
If they had seen me, they could telegraph or telephone ahead and get me without fuss. Even if they had not, I was sick as a dog of this infernal masquerading as a policeman; I wanted to get into decent clothes again. It was absolutely necessary to get rid of the policeman's outfit: if anyone on this train saw me, and the alarm was later flashed through, it would be all up. Evelyn was bringing me a spare coat, and Evelyn was somewhere on this train. But I could not go scouting through the train in this rig to look for her..
Serpos's valise, of course. It would probably contain a change of clothes. Momentarily the thought occurred to me that it might contain only another clerical disguise: a prospect so hideous as to make me physically queasy in the stomach. But that did not matter, for a clerical outfit meant merely a black coat, and black coats look much alike, and I was already wearing an ordinary dark blue suit.
This was so much of a relief that I flopped down on the grey upholstery and sat for a moment pleasurably getting my breath. All the same, it would not do to stay here. Somebody might look in at any minute. A lavatory was indicated, to get rid of the Compleat Policeman. Also, I was fiery with curiosity to look into the bag and see what the devil it was that Serpos had stolen. That will-o'-the-wisp had danced in front of me all night, and I meant to settle its hash now.
I opened the corridor-door and peered out. It was deserted. The train moved now with a dancing sway, jerking and whirling above a clackety-roar of the wheels, and a long blast from the whistle was torn behind as we gathered speed. She was a flyer. Bristol, so far as I could remember, must be something less than eighty miles away. Less than an hour and a half should get us there — for another spot of burglary.
Nil desperandum. The Compleat Policeman tiptoed the few remaining feet which separated this compartment from the lavatory, and got safely inside with the door latched. Then I set to work on the valise. It was an ordinary black-leather one, new and shining, and it was not locked. I opened it, and in a minute more I was frantically throwing things aside, digging into it, turning it upside down, without result.
Serpos had done me. That weedy, weepy, blue-chinned young man in spectacles, with the odd gleam in his eye, had somehow hoaxed us all at last. For there was no loot of any kind in the bag. Except for some spare clothing, a few toilet necessities, a book, a passport and a steamship ticket, it was as empty as a real clergyman's.